Trouble with that reasoning was, somebody had to stand in the breach and block the flow of darkness as best they could. As controversial as being an officer of the peace was in this notch of history, as ineffectual as Eli and many other cops felt sometimes, what would the world be like without good cops—and the vast majority of them were good—always ready and willing to fight the common and uncommon evils that would otherwise creep over the whole human race like black mold.
The objective, Eli knew, was overwhelming. Even impossible: a fool’s quest. Don Quixote in an SUV with a badge painted on the side.
And yet, like that crazy knight of old, Eli had to keep tilting at windmills, if only because occasionally—just occasionally—his lance happened to strike down a monster instead.
Whether he liked it or not, that was his calling.
He had no choice but to live it.
“Some of the reports are back from the lab in Kalispell,” Eli said, rallying himself from the mental mire he’d stumbled into, reading Freddie’s ravings and considering the futility of confronting yet more evil.
“Fill me in,” Dan said.
“The gun—the one we found in the barn, on that cot—was definitely used to kill Ms. Ulbridge. Ballistics matched.”
“Okay,” Dan replied. “What about prints?”
“No prints. Freddie must have wiped the thing down.”
“Any gunpowder residue on his hands or clothes?”
Eli shook his head. “According to Sam Wu, over at Alec’s office, before he hanged himself, Freddie took a shower. Dressed himself in clean clothes.”
“Fairly typical for suicides,” Dan affirmed.
“Yeah,” Eli said thoughtfully. “But something about this bothers me, Dan,” he confided. “It’s almost too clear-cut. Last week, when I went to tell Fred, Sr., and Gretchen that their boy was dead, I had this odd sense that I was missing something. And I’m not over that.”
“You going to Freddie’s funeral?”
“Yes,” Eli replied. “But not as a mourner. The Lansings would probably lose it if I showed up for the ceremony, so I’ll be watching from the director’s office, via the security cameras.”
“Any chance I could join you? A second pair of eyes can’t hurt.”
“I would be grateful if you did,” Eli answered.
Dan raised his bulky, muscular self to his feet. “I’ll be there,” he said.
“I’ll be in touch with the details,” said Eli. “We have to use the back way. Like I said, Fred, Sr., and Gretchen would not be pleased to see us there. In their minds, I’m the cause of all Freddie’s problems. If I’d just let him alone, etc., etc.”
Dan’s nod was solemn and sympathetic. “I’ll be waiting,” he said. Then he smiled sadly. “It’ll be good to get out of the house for a while—even if it’s for a funeral.”
“Melba giving you that hard a time?”
Dan rolled his eyes. “She’s being nice to me, at least when the girls are around. I told her she’s not fooling them—they’re smart kids—but she pours it on anyway. When they’re at school, she’s at work, but if we happen to find ourselves in the same room at the same time—and she does her best to avoid that—she treats me like something stuck to the bottom of her shoe.”
Eli sighed, stood up to walk Dan to the outside door.
“This is a standoff,” he said. “Two stubborn people, nose to nose, each of them refusing to give an inch of ground.”
Dan gave him a challenging look. “From what I hear, you speak from experience, my friend.”
Eli shoved a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Exactly what did you hear?”
“That Brynne’s former squeeze turned up at Bailey’s and she had a meltdown. Given your current low mood, I’d say you won’t be winning any prizes for diplomacy in the near future.”
“Holy crap,” Eli breathed. “Is this whole damn town wired for sound?”
Dan laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “The drums started beating when you and Brynne left the restaurant together and she came back alone.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m walking around with one of those cartoon thought bubbles over my head. Today, it says, ‘Yep, good ole Eli Garrett screwed up again.’”
As they passed the reception desk, Connie made a point of pretending not to listen. She stared at her computer screen, fingers thumping busily on the keyboard.
Eli respected Connie; she was a valuable employee, always cool in the face of an emergency. He was pretty sure she was also an inveterate gossip, though he couldn’t prove it.
Gossip or not, Connie was a professional, and any news she leaked would be carefully vetted first, lest an investigation or a case be compromised.
Still, Eli regretted the thought-bubble remark because she’d definitely heard it.
Hell, she probably knew more about his life than he did.
Dan said his goodbyes and left. Eli went to the community coffeepot, saw the black dregs of the last brewing and sighed.
He changed out the basket, replacing the used grounds with fresh.
Then he rinsed and filled the pot and started a new batch.
Connie was grinning when he turned around to face her.
“You’re learning, Sheriff. I’m proud of you.”
“That makes one person in the universe,” Eli replied, weary again. He really needed more coffee, having finished the cup Dan brought while exploring the horrors of Freddie Lansing’s mind.
“You need a vacation,” Connie announced. “Or maybe a honeymoon?”
“Not you, too,” Eli lamented.
“That thought bubble you were talking about? It usually reads, ‘I’m so in love with Brynne Bailey, I can’t see straight.’”
“Off-limits, Connie. I’m not discussing Brynne with you.”
“Fine,” Connie said sweetly. “I don’t mind telling you that I’m dating somebody new.”
That caught Eli’s attention. Connie had been divorced for five years, and she was married to her job. Said so herself, constantly.
“That’s the first good news I’ve heard all day,” Eli said. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“You’ll be surprised.”
“I’ve been surprised a lot lately. Go ahead, spring it on me.”
“Russ Schafer.”